There was a moment in the car today when I got positively raucous. I was singing, dancing as much and as badly as one can while driving, and beating the steering wheel like a drum. I was even snapping my fingers because apparently I’d also aged about 50 years.
I suspect that life is just moments like that woven into other kinds of moments. I don’t like that or want that to be the case. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable much of the time. I don’t want to have pleasant days, as much as I don’t want to have bad ones.
I want extraordinary. Or at least I think I do. I think what I really want is just to know that I’m special. That’s all. The truth is, if someone could pat me on my head right now, tell me I’m special and have me believe them, I think everything would change. Maybe then I could stop trying so hard and start enjoying the pleasantness of it all.
I want an extraordinary life because it will prove that I’m extraordinary. It will mean that I’m not like everyone else when the truth is, I’m just like everyone else. And isn’t that the rub.